


Devil You Know

by Seltix



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Age Difference, Alternate Universe - High School, Alternate Universe - Rock Band, Eventual Happy Ending, F/F, Friends to Lovers, M/M, Multi, Power Imbalance, Unhealthy Relationships, set in the late 00s so everyone has flip phones and bad hair, too many references to emo rock
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-12-28
Updated: 2021-02-07
Packaged: 2021-03-10 17:02:35
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 5,842
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28390596
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Seltix/pseuds/Seltix
Summary: “Where’d you get the inspiration for all this?” Sam gestures vaguely at the stage. “The theme, the stage name, the songs? It’s all kind of...”“Dark?” Luke suggests.“Religious.” Sam finishes.
Relationships: Gabriel/Sam Winchester, Lucifer/Sam Winchester, Minor or Background Relationship(s)
Kudos: 11





	1. Chapter 1

If you asked one of Sam Winchester’s classmates to describe him with a single term, once you got past a shrug and “tall” you'd probably be left with: straight-laced. 

Sam doesn’t go to parties, he doesn’t drink, he doesn’t stay out past curfew - even if it is self-imposed. Without a full ride Stanford is a financial impossibility, and so Sam’s usual schedule is packed to bursting with ambitious extracurriculars, homework, and studying. He barely has time to rest, let alone hang out with anyone outside of school.

Unfortunately, being friends with someone like Gabriel occasionally throws a wrench in those plans. And when Gabriel breaks out the nicknames (“come on Samsquatch”), and the dimpled pout (“it’s just one night”) and the wide eyes (“nobody else is free and it’ll be fun, I promise”) Sam is helpless to say no.

It’s how Sam finds himself at The Bunker on a Friday night, Gabriel’s fake IDs getting them through the doors without anyone looking twice. The line of posters pasted to the board outside proclaims that tonight’s performance is DEVIL YOU KNOW and that the show is sold out.

“He seriously calls himself Lucifer on stage?” Sam asks incredulously as they shoulder their way through the crowd, drinks in hand. Gabriel nods.

“Yup. You’d think it would be corny, but honestly? It works for him.”

“I thought you said your brother was a douche.” Sam grumbles, sipping his ginger ale halfheartedly. 

“Oh, he’s a big bag of dicks,” Gabriel agrees, “But he’s still my brother.”

The band is setting up, plugging in their instruments and doing a sound check. Gabriel points out his brother, Luke, and Sam watches the way he moves, all loose posture and easy slinking grace as he shifts around some speakers and fiddles with the mic stand. None of them are especially dressed up – mostly wearing worn jeans and t-shirts. 

“How is he so popular, anyway?” Sam grouses. “They look like a grunge band.”

Gabriel just laughs at him and takes another drink of his decidedly-not-a-mocktail.

When the music starts it’s nothing like Sam expected. There’s heavy guitar, frenzied drums, and Luke’s - no, Lucifer’s - voice is a gravelly hymn that wraps the whole thing together.

“Ok,” He breathes, staring at the way Lucifer’s lips almost caress the mic, “I think I get it.”

After the set, complete with two encores, Gabriel goes to grab another drink while the band packs up and people begin to move around. Sam presses back against the wall, trying not to get in anyone’s way and wondering where he’s supposed to put his long-empty glass. 

“Let me get you a refill.” The voice comes from his right and Sam’s head snaps to the side so fast he nearly gives himself whiplash. 

Leaning against the wall beside him, one hip bracing his weight and hands in his pockets, is none other than the singer Sam hadn't been able to take his eyes off of all night.

He fumbles for words.

“I, uh, I’m alright. Really.”

“I insist.” A smile tilts Luke’s lips and he takes the empty glass from Sam. “What’s your poison?”

“Just soda. Ginger ale.”

Luke’s eyebrows shoot up, but he doesn’t comment.

“Sure.” He says, “Be right back.”

He returns in barely five minutes with a new drink for Sam and something dark and strong-looking for himself. Sam sips cautiously but it really is just ginger ale - no alcoholic scent or odd aftertaste.

“Thanks.” He says, finally giving Luke a shy smile. Luke returns it brilliantly.

“So,” Luke drawls after a sip of his own drink, “Enjoy the show?”

Sam hopes he’s successful in willing down his blush. It’s an innocent question - it would have been impossible for Luke to see the way Sam was watching him from all the way up on stage, the lights in his eyes.

“Yeah,” Sam answers honestly, “I really did. I’ve never listened to your kind of music before, but I liked it a lot.”

“I’m glad.” Luke smiles at him and it has just a hint of vulnerability, like he really cares what Sam thinks of his music. It makes Sam bold.

“Where’d you get the inspiration for all this?” Sam gestures vaguely at the stage. “The theme, the stage name, the songs? It’s all kind of...”

“Dark?” Luke suggests.

“Religious.” Sam finishes.

“Hmm.” Luke hums. “I was always interested in mythology, I suppose. My Dad’s not really a religious guy, but he’s got a bit of a thing for biblical stories. I guess they inspire him. We disagree on a lot of things, but that’s something we have in common. And as for the dark thing,” He adds, his mouth quirking, “I guess you could say I had a bit of a troubled upbringing.”

“Gabriel seems okay.” Sam says before he can think better of it. Surprise flickers over Luke’s features.

“You know my brother?”

“I came here with him, actually.”

Luke looks pleased and a little touched, like he’s pleasantly shocked one of his brothers would think to come to a show. Something in Sam recognizes that expression, aches with it.

“Is he still here?”

“I think he went to get a drink, but I haven’t seen him in a while.”

Luke’s gaze changes, sharpens.

“And the two of you are...?” He trails off, brows lifting. Sam flushes red.

“Oh, no, um, nothing like that.” Sam says quickly. “Just friends.”

Luke’s posture eases again. “Good.”

Good? Sam’s head is spinning. He can’t keep up with this conversation.

“Hey, Sam. This guy bothering you?”

He hadn’t noticed Gabriel emerging from the crowd, but he’s appeared at Sam’s left as if from thin air. His tone is light and joking, but he keeps a wary eye on Luke.

“Good to see you too, Gabriel.” Luke’s smile is huge, genuine, and a little sad. “Came to see me play?”

Gabriel shrugs. “You’ve definitely gotten better since you and Lils set up shop in the garage. You might as well have been banging pots and pans together back then. Thought Dad was going to kick you out for that alone.”

Luke laughs. “I missed you, baby brother.”

They stare at each other for just a moment, but it reminds Sam so painfully of himself and Dean that he has to avert his eyes.

“You ready to go?” Gabriel asks, and when Sam looks back at him his gaze is shuttered. Sam nods.

“Thanks for the drink.” He says to Luke, placing it on the table nearest to them where people seem to be leaving their empties. It’s already finished and he hadn’t noticed - had they really been talking that long?

“Anytime, Sam.” It’s the first time all conversation that Luke has used his name - and only now does Sam realize he never gave it; he must not have known it till Gabriel showed up. He likes the way it rolls off Luke’s tongue, the slight rasp of his voice around the single syllable.

Then he and Gabriel are out the door, into the freezing January air, and Sam doesn’t stop thinking about the tilt of Luke’s lips the whole way home.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hammered out another thousand words so I figured I'd update sooner than planned. Sam/Luke centric again in this one but we'll start seeing some other characters appear in the next chapter.

A few days later, Sam is doing his laundry at the coin-o-mat down the street. He and Dean have done their own laundry for as long as he can remember - their dad never around long enough to pick up the slack on basic chores. Sam’s got the routine down - he’s packed homework and a snack in his backpack, ready to sit down at the rickety table and study for a little under two hours while his clothes go through their spin cycles.

As he’s throwing in a pair of faded jeans he waited far too long to wash, a piece of paper dislodges from the back pocket and flutters to the chipped laundromat linoleum. Sam picks it up, curious, and flips it over.

Black sharpie spells out a string of numbers in bold, confident handwriting. There’s no name, but the note is signed by a winky face with little devil horns.

Sam’s heart leaps in his chest. He only debates for a moment, setting the machine running and settling in at the table before pulling out his phone and tapping in the number. 

4:05, outgoing message > luke? 

It’s barely a minute before his phone buzzes.

4:06, incoming message > Guilty. Who’s this?

4:06, outgoing message > oh, sry, it’s sam! found ur # in my jean pcket

4:06, outgoing message > didnt know u gave it to me or i wouldve txted earlier lol

Sam’s heart is pounding. He’s always found text conversations to be incredibly anxiety inducing, not being able to see the other person’s expressions or body language. Is it presumptive to text Luke like this? The guy is practically famous, probably super busy, most likely has better people to talk to than some teenager -

Sam’s phone buzzes, but this time doesn’t stop. Luke is _calling him_. Sam picks up on the third ring.

“Hey,” He says into the receiver a little breathlessly.

“Hey, Sam.” Luke’s gravelly voice is distorted by the shitty speaker of Sam’s cheap cell, but Sam’s stomach does a flip anyways. “Didn’t think you were ever gonna call.” 

“Yeah,” Sam laughs nervously, “Sorry again. Only just found your note while doing laundry.” He fiddles with the cuff of his plaid, buttoning and unbuttoning it.

“Don’t be. It’s good to hear your voice.” There’s the tinny sound of something clattering in the background, a muffled conversation. 

“Is this a bad time?” Sam asks.

“Nah, just band practice.” Luke replies, “We’re about to get started, but Sam,” He pauses just a second, “Look, I had a good time talking to you at the show. Would you want to grab a drink sometime, maybe later this week?”

There’s something about Luke’s hesitation, his earnestness, that makes Sam’s heart thrill. 

“Yes,” He says, a little too quickly. “Yeah, I want to.” 

Luke laughs on the other line, a hint of relief bleeding through. “Great, okay. I’ve gotta get on mic or else Lils is gonna kill me- “ There’s a muffled scuffle, something that sounds like ‘yeah I will’ “- but let’s figure out the details through text, ok?” 

“Ok.” Sam agrees, grinning stupidly, and decides he can put himself out there a little if Luke is, “It was - it was good to hear your voice again.” 

“You too, Sam.” The smile is obvious in Luke’s voice, and he hangs up. Sam flips his phone shut, feeling like his whole body is humming. 

It’s gonna be hell to try and focus for the next hour while his laundry finishes. Sam sighs and flips his chem textbook open to the relevant page, but he doesn’t get much actual studying done after that. 

And if he happens to doodle a few devil-horned smiley faces in the margins of his notes, well, that’s his business.

\---

After a bit of back-and-forth, trying to figure out a time that works between Luke’s band schedule and Sam’s extracurriculars, they decide to meet back at The Bunker on a Wednesday night. When it’s not hosting shows on the weekends it serves as a regular, if somewhat grungy, downtown bar.

Sam is eternally thankful he held on to his fake ID. He doesn’t want to know how he would have explained to Gabriel that he needed it again. Square, honor roll, non-drinking Sam, needing a fake ID to go out on a school night? Gabriel wouldn’t have let him have it without FBI levels of interrogation.

And there’s also something about this that Sam wants to keep secret. He’s not sure why, exactly - just that there’s a kind of illicit thrill about hanging out with Luke like this. It’s a private thing that, for once, is only his.

When he gets in the door, he finds Luke already sitting at the bar. Sam takes a moment to just observe him - all sharp angles and loose posture and mussed style. A group of girls sitting at a nearby table are giggling and sneaking glances, but Luke doesn’t seem to notice them. He’s mesmerized by his drink, staring into space and tapping a rhythm into the glass.

Sam slides into the spot next to him. “This seat taken?”

Luke turns, his eyes refocusing. “Not if you’re planning on sitting here.” He says, a smile tugging at the corners of his mouth, and flags down the bartender.

“Let me guess,” Luke says, still with that teasing tone, “A soda for you?”

Sam actually does want a ginger ale, but he’s here with Luke and he’s feeling bold and adult and rebellious. The bartender makes his way over, and Sam orders a rum and coke.

They talk a bit about everything and nothing. Luke is easy to open up to - when Sam is speaking his eyes are only on him, piercing blue and intently focused. Sam finds himself talking about things he’s told very few people - growing up always on the road, his dad’s one-track focus on cases, Dean’s ongoing attempt to be the glue that holds their family together. In return, Luke tells him about how his own dad kicked him out at eighteen as his brothers stood silently by, how the band had saved him by giving him another kind of family, how songwriting comes to him as easy as breathing.

Sam finishes his first drink, then another. They talk, and flirt, and inch closer together. Being the center of Luke’s attention is both exhilarating and nerve-wracking, and the time flies by faster than Sam can keep track.

Eventually, Luke flips his phone up and grimaces. 

“I better get you home.”

\---

When they stumble their way outside it’s snowing gently and Sam’s buzz is still going strong. He’s not drunk, not anywhere near, but just tipsy enough to giddily enjoy the quiet crunch of Luke’s steps beside him and the drift of flurries through the streetlights.

Luke stops them on a sidestreet, about a block away from the bus.

“Sam.” He says, and Sam basks in the purr of Luke’s voice around his name. “Can I kiss you?”

Sam’s heart skips in his chest, his fingers tingling from the cold and his breath fogging the air slightly.

“I’ve never - I mean, I have, but not with -“ Sam stumbles over his words. This shouldn’t be so difficult, he’s not totally inexperienced, but nervousness and anticipation hum beneath his skin. He forces himself to take a breath and Luke waits, those ice-blue eyes patient and steady on Sam’s face.

“Yes.” Sam says finally. “Please.”

When Luke’s lips meet his they’re soft, gentle, nothing like the kisses Sam’s had before. Ruby had been all tongue and teeth and pushy insistence - her constant wheedling to go further the main reason for their mutual break-up. 

Luke kisses like he listens - letting Sam take the lead, responding when Sam prompts, plying his mouth gently with a question. Sam parts his lips and Luke runs his tongue along the seam, dipping into Sam’s mouth in a way that sparks shivers all down his spine. 

When they break apart Sam is a little breathless, a bit dazed, and very much wants to kiss Luke again. Luke must see it because he smiles, soft, and says:

“You’re very special to me, Sam. I don’t want to mess this up.”

“You won’t.” Sam says, and leans in again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Spoiler: he does.
> 
> This was, so far, my favorite bit to write. Drop me a comment and let me know what you think!


	3. Chapter 3

Gabriel tracks down Sam at school the next day between classes.

“This couldn’t wait till lunch?” Sam asks, switching textbooks at his locker. Gabriel leans against the door next to his, legs crossed at the ankle. 

“As if you weren’t planning to hide as soon as the bell rang, Samshine.” Gabriel says, “This way I get the drop on ya. So spill. Where were you yesterday?”

“I can’t have been at home?”

“Kevin told me you practically bolted after your library shift was over. You’re never in that much of a hurry to get home.”

“Kevin and his big mouth.” Sam grumbles. “I just had some stuff to do, Gabe. You seriously need to know every detail of my life?”

He means to play it off like a joke, but knows it sounded too sharp the second it leaves his mouth.

Gabriel does that thing Sam hates, where he brightens artificially and puts on that sardonic, mask-like smirk. “No, but I did kinda think we were friends. My bad, I guess.”

Sam groans. “Gabe, c’mon, don’t. Can’t I be allowed to have some things to myself?” He gives Gabriel his puppy eyes and his friend softens, dropping the defensive posture.

“Yeah Samsquatch, you can. Sorry. I just worry about you, yaknow?” Then Gabriel grins. “You gotta at least tell me if you’re going on secret dates with some hottie.”

Sam feels his face heat up.

“Oh man, Sammich, that was a joke! You’re kidding!” Gabriel’s wearing his signature look of mischievous delight, but the mask is back again. “Have you managed to make it to third base? Tell me you’ve gotten in at least a little groping.”

“ _Gabriel_ ,” Sam says, “Drop it.”

Gabriel holds up his hands in surrender. “Alright, alright. I know how to pick my battles. I promise I won’t bring it up if you come to lunch. Deal?”

Sam sighs. “Yeah ok, deal. But one peep out of you and I’m going to eat in the computer lab.”

“Dork.” Gabriel laughs. “Ok, kid. Now get to class - if Jody catches you coming in late she’ll skin you alive.”

Sam shoves his locker shut and turns to say something like - stop calling teachers by their first names, Gabe, it’s Ms. Mills - but his friend is already gone.

Sam rolls his eyes, and goes to class.

—

As promised, Sam meets at their usual lunch spot in the stairwell above the art room. Meg and Ruby are already there, but no Gabriel yet.

That would be fine, if Ruby didn’t have her tongue twined with Meg’s. Sam clears his throat loudly. 

“Sam,” Ruby purrs, pulling back from Meg with a wicked grin, “Enjoying the show?”

“No.” Sam says bluntly, and sits down against the wall a good few feet away. Meg rolls her eyes at him. 

“Don’t be such a prude, Clarence.” Meg’s voice is throaty and low, a smoker’s deep drawl, but Sam can’t help but think that it doesn’t hold a candle to Luke’s. “It’s not like the two of you haven’t swapped spit before.”

“Ugh, gross.” Sam groans, “Remind me why I’m friends with you guys again?”

“‘Cause you love us.” That’s Gabriel, appearing from the bottom of the stairwell and flopping down in the middle of the floor. He’s got coffees in hand, and doles them out to everyone. Sam thinks it might be a sort of apology.

“Mm, thanks G.” Meg sips her cold brew. “What do I owe you?”

“Don’t worry about it, sweets,” Gabriel winks, “Kali was on bar today.”

Ruby scoffs. “I can’t believe she still gives you free shit. Didn’t you guys break up like, ages ago?”

Sam drinks his macchiato quietly, tuning out his friends’ bickering. He thinks about drifting snow, ice blue eyes, soft lips on his. 

Gabriel kicks his foot. Sam glares at him. Gabriel rolls his eyes and leans over.

“If you don’t want everyone to know you’re mooning over someone, you better pull your head outta those clouds.” He says in a low voice, and Sam blushes.

“Ooh, what’re you two lovebirds whispering about?” Meg grins at them. Gabriel flips her the bird.

They get into a discussion about the senior production of Oklahoma (Ruby: “Should we go just to make fun of it?” Gabe: “Hey! I helped build that set, remember.”) and the merits of musical theatre vs regular theatre. Sam manages not to think about Luke too obviously for the rest of lunch, but still catches Gabriel sometimes sneaking him little indecipherable glances. Ruby and Meg don’t seem to notice.

—

Sam is in his last class of the day when his phone buzzes in his pocket.

2:48, incoming message > Had a great time last night. 

Sam can’t stop a smile from spreading across his face. He quickly types back a response, checking to make sure the teacher's back is turned.

2:48, outgoing message > me 2. cant stop thnking abt u

2:49, incoming message > Can I see you again? Today?

Sam’s heart jumps. 

2:50, outgoing message > when?

2:50, incoming message > After school?

2:51, outgoing message > got 2 tutor till 5 :(

2:51, incoming message > I can pick you up after? We’ve got practice tonight and I want the band to meet you. 

Sam feels dizzy and light and flushed. Luke wants him to meet his friends, Luke wants to pick him up, Luke wants to see him again (and kiss him again??). Sam nearly fumbles his phone trying to reply.

2:52, outgoing message > ok :)

Going back to taking trig notes is like torture after that.

—

When Sam walks into the library at 4, Kevin is at the desk scanning returns. Sam marches over.

“I can’t believe you ratted me out to Gabriel.” He hisses, trying not to attract the attention of the supervising librarian. 

Kevin gives him a longsuffering look. “Dude, you know how the guy can be. He came looking for you at the end of your shift, it’s not like I went to him.”

“Gabe came looking for me? For what?”

Kevin turns back to his books. “Didn’t ask, not my business.” 

“Thanks so much, Kev.” Sam does his best to drip with sarcasm, but Kevin doesn’t give him the decency of a reply. 

Samandriel is sitting at their regular table at the back of the library, his study notes already open. 

“Sorry I’m late,” Sam says, sliding into his seat, “Had to ask Kevin a question.”

Samandriel babbles for a bit about how band practice went well, and then how he doesn’t understand the book they’re reading in English at all and they have an essay on symbolism due Friday. Sam spends the hour helping the freshman find textual evidence and map out his essay structure. He’s nearly vibrating the whole time, his mind only half focused, constantly aware of the clock inching closer and closer to 5.

The second the minute hand hits Sam is packing up, telling Samandriel he’ll see him next week, and bolting out of the library. Kevin raises his eyebrows as Sam passes the desk.

“Thought you said it wasn’t your business,” Sam snarks. He’s not in the mood to be questioned by friends, and he’s got a little irrational voice in the back of his head telling him that if he’s not outside in the next five minutes Luke will decide he’s not worth his time and leave.

Unfortunately, luck doesn’t seem to be on Sam’s side. Gabriel is waiting outside the library, perched on top of the book returns cart and chatting with a senior Sam only half-recognizes.

“Samshine!” Gabriel calls when he spots Sam. He hops down from the cart, peace-signing goodbye to his classmate. Sam feels like he’s going to implode if even one more thing goes wrong today.

“This is starting to get stalkery, dude. How long have you been waiting out here?” 

Gabriel’s mouth tilts, and it reminds Sam so suddenly of Luke that his head spins. 

“I dunno, like five minutes?” Gabriel gives Sam a Look. “I have improv after school on Thursdays, Sam. We always catch the bus home together.” 

Oh, shit, in all the excitement over Luke’s text and the thrill of maybe seeing him again Sam had completely forgotten.

“Oh.” Sam says, feeling stupid. “I actually, uh, I’ve got a ride home today.”

“Oh god, is it Meg? Cause you know there’s at least a fifty-fifty chance she’s gonna pull over halfway so she and Ruby can make out, and you’re gonna be trapped with those two exhibitionists.”

Sam makes a face. “Ew, no, and I didn’t need any of that mental imagery, thanks.”

“Then is it... your hot date?” Gabriel waggles his eyebrows suggestively. Sam is starting to hate how easily Gabriel can apparently read him. 

“No,” Sam says, too quickly.

“Aw Sammich, I see how it is. Ditching me for a piece of ass.” He throws up his hands. “What can you do? Hoes before bros, as they say.”

“That’s not what they say.” Sam sighs, and hopes desperately that Gabriel never finds out that the ‘piece of ass’ he’s referring to is his brother.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Meg and Ruby are bad wlw representation and I love them.
> 
> Meeting the band next chapter!


	4. Chapter 4

Gabriel actually leaves him alone after that, which is so unusual it has Sam checking over his shoulder all the way to the front of school property. When he gets to the gates, he flips out his phone.

5:17, outgoing message > u here?

5:17, incoming message > Outside Elysian Café.

Sam jogs around the corner, more than a little relieved that Luke parked a street away. It’s not like he doesn’t want anyone to see them together, he just doesn’t want to have to explain and then be teased about his ‘boyfriend’ for weeks on end.

Sam nearly trips thinking the word. Is that what they are? Boyfriends? Somehow, it seems too childish a word to describe... whatever this is. 

Luke is in front of the coffee shop just like he said he would be, leaning against his car. It’s a sleek black thing, like a newer cleaner version of Dean’s Impala. Luke is wearing a leather jacket over his typical t-shirt and jeans combo, and he’s got a coffee in hand. It steams in the winter air.

Sam lets his backpack dangle off one shoulder and desperately wishes he was wearing a cooler outfit. 

“Hey,” He greets, and Luke looks up from his phone with a scowl that morphs into a crooked smile when he sees who it is. 

“Hey, Sam.” Luke doesn’t seem to know what to do with himself any more than Sam does. “You good to go?”

“Yeah, I’m ready.” Sam agrees, limbs tingling with nervousness. He barely paid attention to the other members of Luke’s band when he’d seen their show and has no idea what to expect, but they’re Luke’s friends and Sam trusts him.

He goes to open the passenger door but Luke stops him with a hand on his arm. 

“Hey, wait,” Luke says, his smile lingering, “Why the rush?”

Sam meets him halfway, melting into the kiss like he’d done last night. Luke’s hand is a steady presence on his upper arm, holding Sam against him protectively. 

Someone outside the café clears their throat loudly and Sam jumps away, heart pounding. Luke looks amused and unruffled. 

“Now we can go.” He says with a conspiratorial grin, and opens the passenger door for Sam.

\---

On the drive over, Sam asks Luke questions about the band. He learns that they met through mutual friends, that Luke had already come up with the concept, that they got picked up by a label after less than a year of playing shitty gigs. Luke tells him the other bandmembers have their own stage names like his, and that the crowds at their bigger shows have a tendency to get rowdy.

Sam finds out they’re in the middle of practicing new songs to record their next album, so Luke’s going to be in town for a while. He tries to pretend like that doesn’t thrill him. 

When they finally pull up it’s in front of a nondescript brick building at the edge of town, a neon yellow sign over the nearest door proclaiming it to be ARCHANGEL PRODUCTIONS.

“Fitting, right?” Luke comments when he sees Sam looking.

There’s someone smoking outside, just a little to the side of the door. 

“A-man.” Luke greets when they approach, clapping the guy on the shoulder. “This is Sam, he’s going to be joining us for practice. Sam, this is Alec - our Azazel.”

Azazel gives Sam a half-amused half-bored look that makes his skin crawl. He looks about a decade older than Luke and there’s a yellow tinge to his fingers, teeth, the whites of his eyes, that screams chain smoker. Even so, Sam can objectively see that he has a kind of older Sting, aging Kurt Cobain appeal to him. Doesn’t stop the guy from giving him the creeps, though. 

“Nice to meet you.” Sam says belatedly, awkwardly. Azazel looks at Luke with a raised eyebrow.

“Kid’s cute.” 

Luke scowls at him, and for the briefest second his hand tightens on the collar of Azazel’s shirt - then he releases it, gives the fabric a pat.

“C’mon, Sam.” Luke says, turning away from Azazel. “The rest of the band’s inside.”

The practice studio is through a maze of dingy hallways that eventually open up into a dim, high tech, poster-covered room. Half of the space is separated from the rest by a plexiglass barrier, framed by panels of sliders and buttons and blinking lights. 

There’s a heavily tattooed redhead sitting at the drumset inside, phone flipped open and feet propped on a nearby amp. 

“Abby.” Luke nods at her as he and Sam walk into the booth. “Where’s Lils?”

“Not here.” She says without looking up, glossy red nails flashing as she types something into her phone. “I think she thought you weren’t serious.”

“I’m always serious.” Luke growls. “Give me that.” 

He snatches the phone out of her hands, punches out what Sam assumes is a text, and tosses it back.

“You do have your own phone.” Abby scowls at him, pocketing her cell. 

“If Lils is pissed at me she’ll have my number blocked again.” Luke shrugs, rolls his shoulders. “She should know better.”

Abby sighs and gets to her feet, giving Sam a one-over as she stretches. 

“This the kid?” She smirks at him. “He’s cute.”

“You and Azazel, two peas in a pod.” Luke smirks back, mimicking her. “That’s what he said too.”

“Ugh, nevermind then. Sam? Abby.” She holds out a hand.

“So you’re Abaddon?” Sam asks as he shakes. She laughs.

“Giving away all our secrets already, Lu?” She shoots Luke a knife-sharp grin. He ignores her.

“If Lils isn’t here in ten, we’re starting without her. Go get Azazel before he cracks open another pack.”

“I’m not your errand girl.” Abaddon grumbles, but she goes. 

Turns out Lils - Lilith - does arrive after five minutes looking royally pissed off. She doesn’t so much as glance at Luke, just stomps over to her place at the keyboard and snaps: “We doing this or not?”

It’s not the same experience as when Sam first heard them play - the sound is raw and they keep stopping and starting so Luke can bark out instructions Sam doesn’t understand. Switch around a chord here, lower volume there, slight change of a lyric or adjustment of pacing. Still, it’s captivating in its own way. 

Luke always commands attention but when he’s singing it’s overpowering, intoxicating. When he’s at the mic he fills the room, his usual languid posture gone and replaced with unrepressed fury, barely restrained chaos. Sam has a hard time looking at anyone else.

“That was incredible.” Sam says to Luke when he’s packing up. Luke gives him an indulgent smile.

“You think? It’s still in the early stages, but we’re getting there.”

From across the room, Lilith snorts.

“Got something to say, Lils?” Luke’s tone is icy.

“Nope.” She bites out, giving Sam a glare that could freeze a glacier. Sam does his best not to shrink back, struck by the unprompted animosity. 

“Sam, would you mind waiting out in the car for me?” Luke smiles softly at him, pressing his keys into Sam’s palm. Sam’s skin sparks at the touch. “I’m going to have a chat with Lilith here before we go.” 

The temperature in the room seems to go down by several degrees, and Lilith goes pale. Abaddon shoots her a ‘you brought this on yourself’ look. Azazel, completely uninvolved in the drama, continues to ignore them all in favour of his guitar. 

“Um.” Says Sam. “Ok, sure.”

He gets a little lost on his way out, but eventually figures out the signage well enough to make it to the door they came in through. It’s long since gotten dark outside, the neon glow of the studio’s signage the only light he has to see by.

Sam is just at Luke’s car, fumbling for the right key, when he hears: “Hey, kid, hold on a sec.”

It’s Abaddon, having somehow silently snuck up behind him. She’s got a sleek leather jacket thrown over her cropped t-shirt, and her fiery hair and red lips stand out even more in the chilly winter night.

“I have a name.” Sam snaps before he can think better of it. 

“Ok, sure, squirt.” She rolls her eyes. “Look, I wanted to talk to you quick, before you go.”

“So talk.” Sam is exhausted, both from the long day and the weird tension he doesn’t understand. He’s convinced the band hates him and he’s not sure why, and he just wants to get into the car with Luke and feel like everything is fine again. 

“Don’t let Lils get you down.” Abaddon says. “She’s just jealous. She and Luke had a thing a couple years back and she’s never really gotten over it.”

Something sharp and twisting makes its home in Sam’s gut, but also: 

“I guess I can kind of understand.” He says, because he can. There’s no way he’d be able to see Luke in his element like that, almost every day, and not ache with wanting him. 

“Cool.” Abaddon says, relaxing a tiny bit. “That’s not exactly why I tracked you down, though.”

Sam is on edge again. “Then what is it?”

“You’ve gotta dump Luke.”

It’s like icewater has been poured over Sam’s head. 

“What?”

“Look, kid -“

“Stop calling me kid.”

“Look, _Sam_.” Abaddon fixes him with steely eyes, and Sam shuts up. “Luke is bad news. We can deal with him, we know how, but he’s not a guy someone like you should be with.”

Sam’s temper flares. “What does that even mean? I’m not an idiot, I know he’s not perfect-“

Abaddon laughs humourlessly, cutting him off.

“Oh, he’s pretty far from perfect. You’re sweet, Sam. If you stick with him, he’s going to ruin you. Do you understand?”

“No.” Sam snaps. “I don’t. All any of you have done since I got here has been condescend to me and treat me like a child. Why should I listen to anything you have to say?”

“You _are_ a child.” Abaddon replies, ice cold, “And for some insane reason I thought I’d try to help you. At least when all this goes bad, you can’t say nobody ever warned you.” 

She stalks back inside without another word. Sam stands out in the melting snow for another minute, staring at the swinging door, before he climbs into Luke’s car and starts the heat as high as it’ll go.

Even after Luke joins him a few minutes later with a kiss and a soft “Hey, let’s go,” it takes half the drive for Sam to start to warm up again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the wait on this one - things got busy in the new year!

**Author's Note:**

> This started out as me working my way through teen trauma via high school AU supernatural fic and somehow turned into a 2008 period piece that's currently at 6k+ words and counting. I'll be releasing a new chapter every week or so.
> 
> Luke's band's sound and vibe is very much based on Breaking Benjamin (especially Dance With The Devil), but also inspired by other 2008 emo rock sensations like Skillet, Three Days Grace, and Rise Against.


End file.
